


Follow your Fire

by Saferion



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Kidnapping, M/M, Nesting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ownership, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saferion/pseuds/Saferion
Summary: “Of course someone of your status gets a reward that befalls a Witcher,” the scribe says, unlocking the thick and ancient wooden door leading to the Baron’s basement.Geralt, having recently fulfilled some contracts in the Baron’s region, is led to a gated basement with the promise of a ‘reward that would suit his needs’. Confined in the basement are many omegan slaves – young and old, slender and curvy, male and female.Geralt’s told to pick someone who catches his eye. He’s disgusted but can’t help the primal pull of his inner alpha towards the curled up and whimpering omega in heat in a cage furthest in the corner, humiliated by his own conditions.He picks Jaskier.Or: Jaskier doesn’t know he’s an omega until he’s captured by roadside bandits and sold into slavery on brink of his first heat.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 79
Kudos: 444





	1. Bound

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for this fandom, please let me know what you thought!

It all happened so fast.

One moment, Jaskier was still bemoaning his tired and blistered feet, and the other he was hanging face-down over a scrawny horse, the horse’s spine painfully digging into his stomach.

He’d tried to recall what exactly happened, but his brain was still awfully sluggish and uncooperative. Asking for help wasn’t an option either, seeing his thick tongue and clogged throat.

Besides, judging from the horse’s malnourished state and shoddy tack, he wasn’t exactly caught by city guards or farmers.

No, this reeked badly of roadside bandits, and Jaskier knew better than to try and talk his way out of whatever they had planned for him.

It aligned with what he _did_ remember, though, the road he was travelling on being deserted and littered with wooden posts that said all kinds of variations of ‘do not enter’.

Well.

Maybe Jaskier should have heeded a warning for once in his life.

But he knew that the road he was travelling on was the only shortcut he could afford to take to Drudge, a fisherman’s settlement long abandoned.

It had been the last place the famous White Wolf had been spotted, and Jaskier had been _so close_ that he couldn’t help but attempt to visit a place the Witcher had been recently. His repertoire had dried up, so to speak, and his Velen-wide songs were starting to get dreary, even to the public.

So Jaskier did the first possible thing he could, and it was to take all his belongings (and a _bit_ of the belongings from the bird he slept with that night) and take to the road, chasing the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia. People loved songs about him the most—something Jaskier deeply understood.

Toss a coin to your Witcher, and all.

Jaskier scrunched his nose, a streak dried blood on his lips cracking in the process. He smelled nothing out of the ordinary, which should have been a warning sign seeing the drips of blood still slowly pattering the horse’s coat beneath his face, but Jaskier felt too loopy to worry.

Besides, his nose had always been bad.

No, actually, he had always been the odd man out, being unpresented for so long that people just started to assume he was a beta. And maybe he _was_ , it wasn’t as if Jaskier had been through a presentation before, it might have just happened overnight and, being the heavy sleeper he was, he’d simply slept through it.

Keyword: might.

He scrunched his nose again, valiantly attempting to lick his bloodstained lips with his swollen tongue. The air was heavy with dirt, blood and sweat; not surprising seeing the state Jaskier was in, hobbling around on a horse’s back bound and bloodied, his stomach aching fiercely from this position and head pounding dully with every drop that fell from his nose.

Although Jaskier hadn’t been dealt much violence over the course of his life, he had sustained enough injuries to know he hadn’t been mistreated more than a blow to the head or some kind of witchy-wotchy potion.

A painful cramp to his stomach made him reconsider, a thick and gurgled groan tripping from his sticky lips.

“Oi,” someone said, abruptly stopping the convoy. “M’think he’d woken.”

A scuffle around Jaskier followed and he guessed the bandits—or whomever kidnapped him and shackled him—had gathered around him to watch him like a prize, a token. The horse he was lying on suddenly backed up nervously, obviously not used to being crowded.

Or mobbed.

Or attacked and being taken captive by bandits.

Honestly, Jaskier could relate.

A grimy hand suddenly fisted in his hair, tugging his head up painfully quickly. Jaskier would claim he saw stars, had he not closed his eyes reflexively. That light was _blinding_. Was the sun always this bright and warm?

“He’s fine,” a raspy voice said by his ear, definitely belonging to someone who’d chewed an herb too much in his life, yet he sounded a lot more cultured than the man from before. Jaskier still didn’t open his eyes, figuring that the voices alone gave him enough idea of the vulgarity of the people in front of him. Imagining bloodstained and sweat soaked clothing was enough for him. “He’s not close to breaking yet, we’ll get there in time.”

At that, he let out an undignified screech, muffled by his horribly fat tongue. _Breaking_? Excused you, he wasn’t the one who put himself in this position, he only ignored the sign on the road!

And the one after that… and the ones after that.

But still, capturing and smuggling people was unlawful and Jaskier was sure he’d be released as soon as some patrolling city guards came upon this lousy group of bandits.

The group continued on and soon enough they left the protective shadows of the woods. The sun bore down heavily on Jaskier’s back, the heat of it being soaked up by his body with no proper way of release, the last bit of sweat he could miss having dried in his dirty plum jacket long again.

Damnit, he loved that jacket, it always accentuated his waist so well.

He was extremely dehydrated, he knew from his dried lips and sore throat, but for some reason he kept sweating _so bad_ on his trousers, his butt never truly getting the chance to dry up, not matter how hot and hopeless Jaskier got.

Every step the horse took jostled his stomach horribly, too, and the horse wasn’t careful. It was a far cry from the thoroughbred he once rode to show off to his new lover, the gaits smooth and levelled. Every stone seemed to be a hurdle for it, hooves slipping over it and stumbling down.

The animal was probably exhausted and drained, having little to no energy to keep walking, but being forced to continue on instead.

Jaskier could muster some understanding for that – that is, until the horse stumbled again and the most viscious cramps Jaskier had ever felt wrecked his frame.

Damn, he’d never put anyone face down on a horse ever again, this was no comfortable way to travel. He’d figured that out the hard way.

It seemed like hours passed. Hours spent without a drop of water or a bite of food – not that Jaskier would have managed to stomach anything, but he would have appreciated the thought lots. Wasn’t it normal that you offered someone water, at least?

Though who would expect proper etiquette from roadside bandits, right?

Maybe his mum was right and Jaskier really did try to be too positive and optimistic for his own good. But then again, his mum had been murdered in a robbery gone wrong and Jaskier wasn’t _yet_ , so he wasn’t too sure how true her advice rang. He guessed it wouldn’t have hurt to follow it.

Too late now.

Over the hours, his tongue had become a bit less swollen, but Jaskier didn’t feel more secure along the way. Instead, it felt like his head was filled up with even more cotton than before, his eyes slow and droopy, unable to catch details anymore. He’d fallen in and out of consciousness but was time and again awoken by a painful and long cramp in his stomach, his sweaty butt laughing at his discomfort.

Seriously, how could he remain so _wet_ there?

Occasionally, an involuntary moan that slipped past his lips was rewarded with a strong flick of a horse’s whip over his arse, the stinging painful enough to Jaskier to keep his lips sealed with the last bit of willpower he owned.

He never objected to the torture, that is until Crow’s Perch came into view. Even through his delirious state, Jaskier knew that was bad business. The Baron wasn’t loved in Velen, his name tainted with many stories, ones of hideous ghost children and murdered Witchers. Even his wife didn’t want to stay with him, instead choosing to live deep in the bogs instead, rumoured to steal children and cook them for dinner.

Seriously, who married someone like that at all?

But all those old wives’ tales aren’t the reason for Jaskier’s feeble attempt at struggling.

The keep was.

Surrounded by deep trenches filled with bog water (and undoubtedly with lurking bloodthirsty drowners), guarded by two-men-high stone walls, and a wooden drawbridge, Jaskier instinctively knew he’d never escape this place if he entered, bound like this.

The Baron’s men were twisted enough to not blink at slavery, Jaskier knew. If he went in Crow’s Perch, he’d never see the light of day as a free man anymore.

So he struggled.

The rope bindings around his wrist cut deep, sore and vulnerable skin splitting easily for the torture Jaskier subjected them to. It was painful, but Jaskier didn’t have the time to mind, kicking his already bound legs wildly in attempt to free himself from the horse’s back, at least.

In the best-case scenario, his scared and tired horse broke loose and took off into the woods, dropping him somewhere far enough he could recover and rid himself of his bindings before struggling off, tending to his injuries.

None of that happened, though, the bandits catching on to his plan quickly and restraining him as well as his trembling horse. It was then that Jaskier blacked out, blood running down his ruined wrists.

His fate had been sealed.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

Jaskier awoke with a start.

It felt like he’d been run over by a horse, his whole body throbbing fiercely in protest and it took Jaskier embarrassingly long to remember all the events that occurred before. With heavy limbs he tried to move around a bit to determine his muscle range and flexibility.

It took him only a second to realise he was locked up in a _cage._ Naked.

The bars stretched from the floor all the way up, locking him into a cubicle of steel. Unless he had a key to the door, he wasn’t getting out of his imprisonment any time soon.

Wary, he started to look around, noticing much more cages around his own, stuffed in a musty and dim room with no windows inside. Judging by the clinging smell, Jaskier assumed the cages were placed in an underground room, something like a basement.

Not all cages were occupied, but the ones that were housed unmoving lumps of bodies, probably once proud people reduced to nothing in these horrible cells.

He could hear pitiful whines all around him, the people feeling as miserable as he was and maybe even worse, seeing the states they were in. Jaskier was lucky, after all.

But his stomach hadn’t liked the long ride on horseback. Even now, god knows how long since he’d been kidnapped and undoubtedly sold to Crow Perch’s Baron, he was still feeling the pains and cramps. It was as if his stomach was eating at him from the inside, the muscles shortening and lengthening in an excruciating pace.

It didn’t take him long to find out that if he laid down in a foetal position, the cramps were a lot more manageable.

He couldn’t help the tears slipping from his eyes, though, cleaning his dirty cheeks one streak at a time. Everything just hurt so _much_ and Jaskier didn’t seem to know how to quell that weird feeling inside of him.

For some reason, even despite his trousers having been removed from him, his thighs were still wet and sticky with sweat, his body completely forgotten how to manage his body heat and simply sweating from all the places they knew from muscle memory.

Once he’d gotten to a state of crawling, he saw that there was a small bowl of gruel left in front of his enclosure. Of course there was no sign of a spoon, but Jaskier honestly hadn’t expected anything else, from the way he’d been treated much like a dog so far. Eating without cutlery seemed like one of the minor problems he was facing at the moment.

Thankfully, his tongue seemed a lot less swollen, too, moving around freely. The entire basement was filled with deafening silence though, aside from the pitiful whimper, so Jaskier did not dare speak dare he’d waken any of the guards that were most likely posted outside. Instead, he wiggled the bowl inside his cage and scooped up the thick mush with his dirty fingers, eating it bit by bit to try and not upset his stomach.

It took a long while, but eventually he managed to clean his bowl to the very last bit, his two fingers cleaned in the process too. Jaskier didn’t want to think about the germs he just ate.

After his supper, breakfast, or whatever it was called, things were a bit blurry. He wasn’t sure whether it was from hidden herbs or concoctions in the gruel or simply the fact that he sustained a proper meal for the first time in days, but he chose not to fight it, simply curling up and laying down on the side that hurt the least.

It was the first time he could recall he fell asleep, but Jaskier also quickly realised that tracking time in the basement was an impossible task.

They didn’t feed them at a set time.

Sometimes Jaskier saw a potbellied and overly smelly alpha deliver their food and managed to salvage and eat his bowl in a moment of clarity. Not even a few minutes after he’d set his bowl down clean, another disgusting alpha came in to refill his bowl.

Jaskier knew because he was still full from the last time, but the alpha didn’t care, simply threatening to punish and hurt him until Jaskier’s instincts kicked in and he grabbed the bowl, angry scowl painted on his face.

From his inexistent hunger and the way his stomach still cramped so bad, the bruises littering his body and his open and sore wrists, Jaskier reckoned he had only been in the basement for a few days.

But again, the days were long and tiresome and when there was no sun or moon to count the hours, everything was blurry and foggy.

Jaskier hated it.

He was long past trying to focus and single out the pains in his body, forgoing the throbbing muscles and the sticky thighs. The only thing that really bothered him was the lack of human contact; none of the other people in the basement even attempted to talk to him and Jaskier was too scared to initiate, even though his mind was overflowing with words he wanted to utter and questions he wanted to ask.

The atmosphere that was hanging around was just too suffocating to feel safe, too oppressing to feel like he could speak freely without being punished. Finally, his natural instinct to not do dumb shite and to just stay safe kicked in, even though it made him miserable along the way.

It didn’t seem to lessen his stomach aches, though, nor did the food seem to quell the empty feel inside of him, almost as if he never seemed to have enough.

The alphas coming over took his mind off his worrying, though, and not only gave him something to look at but also something to do, even if he hated that gruel with his utter and complete heart.

Even so, the days were still long.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

“Of course,” the scribe said way too brightly in Geralt’s opinion, “you’ll get a reward that befits a Witcher.”

An old and heavy key was produced from their pocket, slotting into a keyhole of a door that should have been replaced with a newer and lighter door ages ago. Instead of saying anything in response to the question or situation, Geralt simply shifted into a better position to grab his weapon, if needed, and waited.

There were many contracts to carry out in this region, the people oppressed by many beasts, but also plundering bandits and dragons. It was quite the hotspot, actually, seeing the central position in Velen and relatively rich Baron.

But after the Baron had sent him well on his way for Ciri, Geralt had stopped questioning his authority.

He might need to start, seeing the poor state of his civilians and surrounding towns. It all started with Drudge and the ball started rolling after that, the inhabitants tugging on his sleeve left and right and offering everything they owned, from handmade bassinets to a full blown marriage, but they rarely had gold to spare.

It was a poor region, and Geralt wouldn’t be surprised if the scribe here was leading him to yet another ‘gift from nature’.

Following the scribe and walking down the shady stairs, Geralt stepped into a musky basement, filled with cages from top to bottom. The oppressing smell was the first thing that assaulted Geralt’s senses, the soft whimpers the second.

Something wasn’t right here.

It smelt of distressed omega, the kind that frays his nerves and sets his instincts alight. He might be an emotionless and hardy Witcher, but he was still an alpha and distressed omegas always seemed to have a stronger pull on him than anyone else.

Geralt blamed the enhanced senses he got after the intense Witcher’s Trial.

Despite not wanting an omega anytime soon – he was travelling, after all, and couldn’t have an omega being dependant on him when he was off to fight and kill another beast – the intense smell clogged his nose and dulled his senses, all but one.

His golden eyes flit to one of the corners of the basement, deadly focused on a curled-up omega in the throes of heat. He smelt divine; more divine than Yennefer had ever smelt during hers. Deep down, Geralt knew he shouldn’t be making hurried decisions, his lifestyle didn’t suit an omega, _curse it,_ but he couldn’t abandon this one here.

All the other omegas looked worse for wear, skin stretched over their bones, eyes weary and tired. While the male omega was still sleeping, Geralt knew he was recent, most likely, and hopefully had a bit more spirit left in him than the other ones.

His nostrils flared, the sweet and potent scent laying heavily on his sinuses. This was the one.

His _mate._

Not being foolish, the scribe had already followed the Witcher’s gaze and ordered for the new arrival’s gate key. It was a good catch, the Baron admitted so himself, and worth a lot of gold.

It would be a financial loss for them, but Crow’s Perch would do anything if it brough the White Wolf in their good graces, even donating their best virginal omega.

“Would you like to take him tonight, Witcher?” the scribe asked, tone sweet and overly kind, obviously trying not to get on Geralt’s bad side.

The Witcher just grunted, torn from his spell.

“No,” he said, “Saddle my horse. I’m leaving tonight.”

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

Don’t get him wrong – Jaskier had longed to see a change of pace for a long time, but suddenly things were moving way too fast.

He’d been rudely awakened from an amazing dream where he’d _finally_ found the alpha of his dreams, all muscly and strong and surprisingly enough white-haired, much like the tales he spun of the White Wolf in the inns he frequented at.

Used to frequent at.

Those days were over now, he recalled bitterly, trying not to hiss at the invasive hands trying to tug him out of his cage and into a way too brightly lit room.

After days of letting him sit in his own grime and spunk, they suddenly decided to clean him. Apparently he still hadn’t earned the basic privilege of knowing he was about to be doused with a bucket full of cold water and his stomach clenched wildly and painfully as his skin prickled, trying to guard his bare body from the onslaught of the cold.

It was for naught, though, as bucket after bucket was poured over his head until the beta women handling him deemed him presentable enough.

He was cleaned further, even dressed a bit, and still stunned, he was led outside towards a newly built barn housing a couple of well-bred horses.

Again, this Baron wasn’t in monetary struggles, Jaskier could reckon as much, even though his delirious and pained state.

“Stay,” one of the women commanded him like a dog, fully believing Jaskier would listen to her. Didn’t she know this was the first time he was seeing the open air since he was locked up? He’d grab any chance to flee he could find and he wouldn’t bother to listen to a command uttered by a beta, of all things.

“Is his horse readied yet?” another of the women asked, wisely keeping her hand firmly gripped on Jaskier’s shoulder, blocking any escape attempts.

A man walked around the stable block, reins in hand of a beautiful chestnut mare, coat thin and gleaming under the light, a marking on her head that reminded Jaskier strongly of the mare the White Wolf used to ride, Roach.

“She’s ready,” the man answered, checking the tightness of the girth offhandedly. “I’m not sure if he wanted to take extra belongings, so I added a few saddlebags to the set-up.”

It was then that Jaskier noticed the severed head on the left side of the horse’s flank, the obviously still recently killed Griffin hanging as a trophy from the horse’s saddle, blood dripping down on the floor.

The last thing he remembered was that he threw up on the straw and blacked out.


	2. Wrapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing feedback, I was blown away. 
> 
> Here's a second chapter, enjoy!

Jaskier was legit ready to scream bloody murder.

Internally, of course, he wasn’t as foolish as to do so around an unknown and powerful alpha, but he wasn’t lying if he said that riding a horse face-down was really an experience he didn’t appreciate to repeat, especially not if his sore stomach was still recovering from the last tally-ho.

Speaking of horses, he had to admit that the horse was decidedly less scrawny and bony than the other, his stomach definitely cushioned more, but in turn the horse’s movements seemed much more jarring and closer to Jaskier’s head.

Over the ride he slipped in and out of consciousness, the taste of vomit still strong in his mouth as he tried not to think too much about what had just happened. About the way he’d been captured and enclosed around other human beings, about the way that he’d apparently been taken by an alpha, one that even Jaskier could _smell_.

It jarred him for a while, the strong and musky scent clogged his nose and made him forget about everything else in the world. Except for the fact that he was still bound and sold off like some kind of animal.

 _Less_ than an animal, seeing that the horse had more freedom than Jaskier at the moment.

He let out an annoyed huff, trying to settle a little better on the horse’s back. Yet the new position he chose was even worse than the last, the painful cramps in his stomach resurfacing in full force, his body protesting at the even hotter gleam of the sun. He’d bet a Gwent card on the fact that he was sweating down _there_ again.

Hissing lowly, he tried to find another position, but none of the spots seemed to suit him better than the last. He just needed something, something to lay on, to stretch his muscles and—

“Lay still.”

Jaskier yelped at the sudden voice, eyes flashing open as the horse smoothed into a stop and the alpha turned around in the saddle. Trying not to move a muscle, Jaskier went rigid, a weird sense of anxiety and _need to please_ washing over him, doing his best not to go against the alpha’s command even though he needed to move so bad.

He was just scared, okay? And when he was scared, he tended to ramble, like, not a little bit but a whole lot kind of like the size of this horse, but since he didn’t exactly feel dandy and cosy here he wasn’t about to open his mouth and say a string of words that would upset this powerful alpha, but he must understand he _really wasn’t comfortable_ here—

The alpha grunted and _ohmigod_ that really shouldn’t have made Jaskier sweat as much as he did, but it happened and while Jaskier wasn’t proud of it, matters could have been much worse, right?

That is, until the matters got worse.

In the flash of a second, Jaskier was thrown abruptly to the left, a shod hoof popping awfully close to his peripheral vision. Had the horse just _kicked_ at him? That was a serious attempt on his life!

“A fly,” the alpha muttered, successfully making Jaskier huff up in anger. Did he really view him as little as a fly? Trying to show he was still very coherent, he squirmed a little more, kicking his feet slightly for good measure. That would teach them.

A strong hand found its way on Jaskier’s back, curling around both of his bound wrists as if it was nothing. It was pleasant, actually, but he wouldn’t admit that, trying to reduce his trembling anger that was threatening to resurface.

“ _Axii._ ”

Suddenly, a calming warmth spread from the alpha’s hand all the way into Jaskier’s body, heat soaking into his muscles, leaving them languid and calm in their wake. Despite the situation, Jaskier didn’t feel stressed or threatened, the opposite, really, extremely calm and relaxed.

Even his cramping stomach had decided to give him a break, his body boneless and muscles glad for the momentary release of tension.

Well shit, this was a new level of addicting voodoo.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

It was like solving an architectural equation, or whatever that was called nowadays.

Jaskier simply didn’t get it.

Why would a powerful alpha buy him, of all things, and continue to drag him along to every single outskirt in Velen and keep it at that? From what Jaskier could tell, nothing untoward had happened to him, aside from his wounds being treated when he was out cold.

The man rode for hours upon hours, only stopping deep in the night when Jaskier had long since fallen asleep already. Instead of forcing himself on Jaskier or asking for manual labour, like taking care of the man’s horse, the alpha did nothing but prop him on the ground, covered by a blanket, and let him sleep on through the night.

They had been on the road for two days now, this being the second night away from Crow’s Perch. Other than the weird magic he’d been exposed to on the first day, he’d been coherent and bright – aside from the persisting stomach-ache and the hunger. Not odd, seeing his position on the horse hadn’t changed and since he has barely been fed since they left. How Jaskier still had the ability to sweat from, uh, inappropriate places, he didn’t know.

Weird body.

Nothing had triggered it as badly as the alpha leaving him one of his shirts, though. Jaskier had taken it as an obvious hint to cover himself up and he did just so, revelling in the man’s strong scent. For a minute his mind had gone entirely blank, nose dug deep into the cotton as he tried to inhale as much as he could in a second’s time.

Thinking back on it now it was more than embarrassing, but Jaskier tried not to read too much into it. It wasn’t a crime to sniff a shirt, right?

Right.

Even now, he hadn’t seen the alpha’s face. He rarely showed himself and even more rarely spoke to Jaskier. It had come to a point where Jaskier was feeling ignored, which was strange, seeing that he had been bought like an animal, so it hadn’t been odd to, you know, realise someone doesn’t see you as a human being.

The weird thing was, though, that the alpha did talk _so much_ to his Roach-lookalike. There was some serious cloning stuff going on here, the horse having exactly the same blaze and white markings on her legs as the White Wolf’s mount.

Jaskier didn’t try to question why he knew the horse’s markings so well.

Something with stalking the famous Witcher, and all that.

He’d never seen the man in person – and honestly Jaskier wasn’t sure if he would have survived, the man having an extremely strong alpha scent that most people couldn’t handle. It was just a small change of the many changes Witchers went through when they had survived the trials. Jaskier remembered hoping that he might actually be able to stand the scent, seeing his sense of smell was so bad.

Jaskier closed his eyes, trying to push the memories from his mind.

They were from his old life and irrelevant to his current situation.

The bandages around his wrists were expertly wrapped; not too loose, but also not too tight. They felt snug and comfortable, keeping the healing poultices on the broken skin. They were also courtesy of the alpha – or at least Jaskier assumed so. He’d woken up this morning with his wrists unbound and wrapped. It was a welcome change from the day he’d spent tied on the mare’s back.

Behind the trees, the watery morning sun was valiantly attempting to crack through the foliage and warm the earth. Dawn was close.

He’d thought often of fleeing, especially in moments like these, when the alpha was still sleeping, wrapped up in a blanket and looking content.

But for everything that Jaskier was, he was no fool.

In his emancipated and dehydrated state, he’d never get far in the forest. He could mount the horse and try to cover some ground with her, but Jaskier had a feeling that the mare might just throw him off in discontent.

Besides, the alpha slept lighter than anyone Jaskier had ever seen, the man’s relaxed stance suddenly turning sharp and aware merely at the sound of a twig snapping.

No, without knowing the woods’ dangers and his whereabouts, Jaskier knew that fleeing would mean a certain death.

Another strong cramp forced a whine out of his parched throat, the sound rough and broken. Using the blanket he got to cover his body, he made a small circle on the floor to lay on, carefully smoothing out the edges so his mind was content with it too.

If anyone asked why he was sleeping on the blanket instead of under it, he’d answer that he was feeling too hot beneath the blanket.

He wouldn’t be lying.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

The coin didn’t drop until the next morning.

“Stay,” the alpha said offhandedly. Jaskier still didn’t know whether he was speaking to him or his horse but he let it slide, staying curled up on his blanket. He’d made his choice long ago; he preferred to stay around the alpha for now, trusting his dual blades more than Jaskier’s own bare hands. If they’d come upon a town, escaping was much easier. Slavery was still illegal, after all, and some people in a town should have his back, at least.

So Jaskier stayed, his eyes following the alpha as he moved to the stream they were camped next to, a sponge in hand that had definitely seen some better and probably cleaner days. The alpha laid the swords on the rock next to the stream before taking off his shirt, exposing a well-defined torso that was _definitely not_ mouth-watering. Jaskier sat up, his head swimming and body heating up almost immediately.

Was he getting sick?

Unconsciously, Jaskier lifted a hand to his neck to rub at the juncture of his jaw, his headache evaporating in a second.

His eyes were still trained on the alpha’s back, long and deep scars testimony of the man’s vast battle experience. Jaskier liked the way it looked, liked the way they framed his muscle like the works of art he used to see in noble’s mansions.

He wasn’t invited to play there often, but once he was, he took in every detail.

Just like he was doing now.

The alpha didn’t take too long to bath – probably keen to get underway and cover more expanse of woods like… any other day. Jaskier simply watched, restlessly shifting on his blanket, curling and uncurling the corners maybe more than necessary, but he blamed his nerves.

There was an Adonis bathing in front of him, _naked_ , mind you, what else was he supposed to be? Calm?

Jaskier snorted, closing his eyes for a second.

“What’s so funny?”

Jaskier let out the loudest and most explosive yelp he ever uttered in his life, instinctually scrambling back into the safety of the tree he was resting under to create some distance between him and the alpha that suddenly stood _right in front of him._

And it wasn’t just any alpha.

No, Jaskier would recognise that face anywhere, especially paired with the white hair. Seriously, how could he have missed that detail while the alpha was gloriously bathing in front of him? Oh right, Jaskier was too busy _ogling him_ like a deprived bitch in heat.

“You’re--,” Jaskier stammered, nervously grabbing the blanket to hold it as some kind of barrier between him and the brooding and _very fucking dangerous_ alpha, even though Geralt had made no move to step closer to Jaskier than he already had done in the first place. “I sniffed and drooled on your shirt, what the hell!”

“Yes,” the alpha—Geralt—said, not a hint of emotion spreading over his face. “You did.”

This time, Jaskier couldn’t do more than blink, trying to process everything that was happening here, from his cramping toe to how he’d become the White Wolf’s _prostitute._

Well, not really, since Geralt had shown zero interest in him. Like, nothing. Nada.

But that’s what you buy people for, right? Usually omegas, but Jaskier could totally and absolutely understand why someone would prefer a beta when living the life Geralt lived, so no questions asked on that front.

“It’s time to go,” Geralt said, grabbing his things and saddling Roach with practised precision. He was travelling with _Geralt and Roach_.

Even after pinching his thigh several times, Jaskier couldn’t believe it.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

“We’re close to Midcopse,” Geralt suddenly said on their third day.

Gallantly, Geralt had allowed Jaskier to sit at the front, arms cased around Jaskier’s body. It should have felt limiting and constraining, but Jaskier had found it to be amazingly comfortable. He’d nodded off a couple of times already, head tucked in the crook of Geralt’s elbow, trying to get as much skin-to-skin contact as he could.

“I’ll book a bed for you.”

That made Jaskier pause. A bed for him alone?

“Why so?”

Geralt levelled him with a look that insinuated Jaskier was crazy, so he tried not to wiggle uncomfortably in his seat, biting his tongue to stop from asking anymore questions.

“You’re horrible at containing your curiosity,” Geralt said, an almost amused tone to his voice. Really, Jaskier wondered if Geralt had the capability to make jokes. “The room. So you can sit it out there.”

Sit _what_ out?

Had Jaskier missed Geralt mentioning going on a hunt soon? That would make sense, that he’d book a room for Jaskier so Geralt could go off and do things Witcher’s do without having a baby bard hanging off his trousers, sweating like his body depended on it.

Seriously, this region of Velen was too hot to bear.

Their ride to Midcopse went relatively smoothly. Roach pattered on loyally, her occasional attempts to complain about the double weight on her bad quickly shot down by a sassy but quick remark from Geralt.

It was all quite domestic, really, kind of like the sunset rides Jaskier had seen royalty couples take, trying to bond through riding their hot-headed thoroughbreds through nature and attempting to stay seated.

That was until Geralt’s medallion started humming.

Jaskier could hear the thrumming from the place he’d moved on the other’s chest, a quick and oddly hot pulsing from the wolf shaped pendant. He didn’t have had to know much about Geralt to know that this was an awfully bad sign.

“Stay with Roach,” Geralt commanded as he jumped off her back, not even bothering to swing his leg over the saddle, simply slipping off behind her like he does it all the time. Show off. “She’ll keep you safe.”

Despite what people might think, Jaskier didn’t have a death wish, so he took Geralt’s advice to heart, shifting back on the saddle as Roach backed up a little, still keeping Geralt in view, but choosing not to position herself prominently on the path.

She must have had some damn experience as a war horse, that’s for sure.

Slightly off the path, Geralt had squatted down with his silver weapon drawn, smoothly applying an oily substance to the blade. It struck Jaskier that he seemed extremely calm, even when faced with imminent danger, danger that he might now have been able to identify save for his medallion.

But then again, Jaskier wasn’t a Witcher and most definitely did not have their senses. He should ask Geralt when this whole thing dies down.

An agonising scream tore from the sky and Jaskier barely had the time to right himself as Roach jumped back, hooves scattering up sand all around her. 

The beast was close.

“Back up, Roach!” Geralt screamed, eyes fixed on the treeline in front of him. “She’s smelling him.”

“Me?” Jaskier asked, tone a few octaves too high to be okay, panic well and truly setting in now, even if there wasn’t exactly anything wrong, yet. If he’d been alone he would have just walked on, none the wiser.

That was when she appeared, materialising from the sand as if she’d been waiting for the right dramatic moment in the scene. She looked horrible, dressed in tattered wedding clothes, a flower wreath decaying on her head. Her form was… see-through, almost immaterial, but it was clearly a woman once, dress still hanging off her shoulders. Vaguely, Jaskier recalled that she might be a nightwraith.

Geralt didn’t wait to strike, landing a couple good hits before backing off and building himself a magical barrier, quickly applying new oil to his blade.

All that time, he never seemed stressed or worried, and it helped to soothe Jaskier’s nerves a little.

Until she fell down in the grass and came back with seven different versions of herself.

Well, shite.

Jaskier didn’t know where to look, eyes flitting over the different forms to find the dominant one but coming up short when they all looked exactly the same: all terrifying and seemingly invincible.

“Roach!” The scream came from Geralt again, effortlessly hacking down three doppelgangers. “Back up!”

Finally, the mare seemed to listen, though it was too late. Out of nowhere, the nightwraith popped up in front of them with several of her doppelgangers. Terrified, Jaskier stared at her gaunt face with his eyes open, feeling his muscles tighten and loosen without his command.

It wasn’t until he became weaker and weaker that he realised that she was sapping energy off him, a wicked grin spread on her ruined face.

Roach ran, but Jaskier couldn’t recall any of it.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

Geralt had never sustained as much injuries fighting a wraith as he did tonight.

After many warnings, Roach finally listened and took off, taking the omega to safety.

It was just in time too, the nightwraith, or Jenny o' the Woods as he later found out the locals called her, had already drained him for a dangerous duration.

Normally Roach always listened to him, so Geralt was more than a little bugged as to why the mare had waited. If she’d taken off right away, the omega could have been safe now, bundled up in proper nest and finally spending his heat like he should, instead of building a tragic nest in the middle of the woods.

Though Geralt reckoned that, even when provided with the right materials, this omega wouldn’t know how to nest.

It’d more than been clear from the time he’d spent around the omega that he wasn’t aware of many of the things he did. Normally, when an omega in heat is approached by an unknown alpha, they’d hiss like their life depended on it.

His omega had never done that.

Instead, he just curled up and watched Geralt with his curious and inquisitive eyes, many questions burning on his tongue that he didn’t have the courage to ask yet.

When Geralt handed him some nesting material, the omega responded in a very peculiar way. Instead of using the shirt to nest, using it as a comfort item to hug and scent, he pulled it on, craning his neck unnaturally to scent the fabric as an afterthought.

Geralt wasn’t dumb.

This omega didn’t know he was an omega.

But what surprised Geralt the most was the fact that he wasn’t even repulsed by his strong scent. Instead, the omega chose to curl into his chest, unconsciously rubbing his wrists and neck along Geralt’s exposed skin.

Without knowing it, the omega had been scenting him all the way over to Midcopse.

Usually, that would have come in handy, but now it caused for Geralt to discover the lurking wraith way too late, the spectre only scenting the fertile omega when he was within a few metres distance.

It gave Geralt little to no time to prepare let alone bring the omega to safety, and they were both paying the price right at this moment.

His wounds were relatively easy to treat, though painful. Wraiths had a hand in coursing through your body like a current, punching and pushing every muscle and organs in all kind of unnatural ways, leaving you nursing internal bruised for a fortnight or so.

But when they were draining off you like they did with the omega, they literally took your energy and if you had none anymore, they’d take your life energy until your body gives out on you.

Geralt killed Jenny just in time, but the omega had to pay the price.

He still didn’t know his name despite the omega knowing him, his bright eyes tracking Geralt so often. He’d been clever enough not to flee in the woods, which was a display of his smartness. For all he knew, Geralt was still a bad guy he had to get away from.

But he wasn’t as foolish as to take off in a dark forest while in heat, attracting any and all monsters lurking there.

Instead, he knew he was safe around Geralt, trusting him enough to take him places and dress him.

The only thing Geralt forgot to do was to provide food and water for his omega, complete forgoing those basic human instincts, seeing he doesn’t need as much nutrition as anyone else, only to strengthen up after an intense fight.

With a deep sigh, he looked over the sleeping omega laying on the blacksmith’s bed, the man extremely grateful for having relieved him and Midcopse of a wraith that had been plaguing them for years.

He’d failed the omega, but if he’d wake up, he vowed to never make the same mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of the concept and if you would like to see another chapter and maybe something particular?   
> -Saf


	3. Unleashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact - I looked up Jaskier's name in different languages on the wiki page, as I knew that his stagename was Dandelion. Well, in Dutch they changed his name to Ranonkel, an entirely different flower (the Persian Buttercup, it's pretty, look it up!).
> 
> I'm laughing because the Dutch name for 'Dandelion' literally translates to 'Horse Flower' so I guess they didn't figure that as fitting for Jaskier...
> 
> Well, please enjoy the chapter and let me know what you thought!

It was clear that the villagers did not appreciate Geralt’s hasty and sudden arrival to Midcopse.

Despite clearing the entire notice board and killing the roaming beasts in the area, the folk were still incredibly suspicious and wary of him.

It wasn’t as if that was something new to him. Being a not-so-talkative Witcher had created countless stereotypes Geralt had never bothered to undo in his life. Having a scapegoat seemed to satisfy a lot of people, evidently. It was easy to shove the blame on an emotionless being, to side-eye and point the accusing finger at him instead of their own careless actions.

It made finding lodgings for the night tough. It wasn’t as if he was stopped at the door of an inn, but usually none of the innkeepers dared to grant Geralt a room. Something with him killing them in their sleep, or that’s what he’d heard being whispered behind his back.

Normally, Geralt didn’t bother, moving back into the forest and kneeling in a relatively safe spot to stay the night, or he travelled to a place where he knew to get guaranteed shelter.

There was one new problem, though.

A problem in the shape of an omega.

It was embarrassing, really, how bad he knew the other. On the road, he hadn’t put much energy into it, didn’t even bother to introduce himself. Actually, ever since the… _situation_ on the riverside bank where the scent of the turned-on omega carried metres away, Geralt assumed the omega knew who he was.

Remarkably, it didn’t make the omega more scared of him. If anything, the other was even more tuned in to Geralt, chatting his ears off.

Despite his reputation for being emotionally constipated, Geralt did feel sorry for the omega. From the way the omega acted and how strongly he smelt, this was his first heat. Less severe in the emotional sense, but definitely more painful and intense.

In short, he needed more comfort and less sex.

This wasn’t the first time that Geralt wondered how old the man was, the dainty face framed by bouncy locks didn’t seem old, but it definitely didn’t look like a boy who had barely reached his eighteenth summer, the average age an omega presented.

He was just made of mysteries.

Undoing the supple leather straps behind Roach’s saddle, Geralt tugged the blanket he’d bought from the town over off Roach’s back, sniffing it in passing to make sure there were no odd scents on it.

It was a beautiful blanket, really, the purple fabric thick and sturdy yet still exceptionally soft, material perfectly suited to build the outsides of a nest.

 _If_ the omega actually built nests like he was supposed to.

Bribing his way through Midcopse, he’d finally managed to find a clean and warm place for the omega in an old lady’s home, the woman taking pity on the couple.

She undoubtedly thought what the villagers had had no qualms with saying – seeing an unconscious and malnourished omega in _heat_ , travelling with a Witcher without any safe place to stay.

And lacking any omegan tendencies at that.

Even Geralt could see how bad that sounded.

Thankfully, the old lady’s house was set a bit outside town, saving Geralt from listening to the riddling townsfolk whenever he passed by. It was clear that this action hadn’t improved his reputation at all.

The stairs creaked and groaned as Geralt walked upstairs, blanket and fresh bread and water in hand. He might have forgotten about the omega’s needs on the road, but he was trying to set it right, even if he’d be hated by the people for it.

Just as he made to open the door, the old lady stepped out, gaze so stern and scarily determined that Geralt rose an eyebrow, taking a step back to give her some space.

“Call me if you need anything, boy,” she said, clearly aimed towards the omega as she was still giving Geralt a gaze scarier than most monsters could muster. Damn.

The omega nodded, hands wringing in front of him nervously, his nestlessness still making him extremely fidgety and scared. Unsettled. The way omegas usually feel when unable to tap into their natural emotions. It frustrated Geralt because he was giving the omega all the changes in the world to settle into them and he _just didn’t take them._

It didn’t take long for the omega to spot the blanket Geralt’s arms.

“Dude,” the omega said, voice bordering a manic laugh. He was going crazy. “I have a load worth for the coldest of winters, what the fuck.”

The omega laughed again, a sad sound that weirdly enough made Geralt want to step forward and provide some comfort.

But he didn’t.

It wasn’t his place.

“This must be the twelfth blanket you’ve given me,” he said, hysterically now, taking the blanket and looking around to find a suitable spot for it. Even if he didn’t know it, that already was an omegan tendency. “I really don’t know what you expect me to do with it, it’s not as if I am an omega.”

Geralt looked at him with such a done expression that the other nervously laughed and backed away.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

“Jaskier.”

Surprised by the sudden and unexpected outburst, Geralt paused his movements, letting the whetstone hover over his silver sword and raising an eyebrow in question.

“That’s my name,” the omega repeated, smiling brightly although nervously. “Jaskier.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeated dumbly, trying out the unusual name. For some reason, it seemed to fit the exuberant omega he had become to get to know along the way.

“Indeed,” Jaskier confirmed, smile on his lips. He seemingly really liked that Geralt mentioned his name.

Geralt couldn’t relate, but he agreed that it was nice to know his name, finally.

“There must have been some kind of mistake,” Jaskier continued, his posh tone of voice coming back full force. “I can assure you I am a beta.”

Geralt blinked.

“I can totally understand the confusion, I mean, who wouldn’t!” Raising his hands high in the air, Jaskier laughed, elated as if he had just solved the world’s poverty problem with a night’s worth of thought. “But I’m not an omega, you must have thought so because the smell of omega clung to me from the basement. There were other omegas there, you know, some also in heat, like, can you imagine? Terrible. Atrocious.”

Eyeing the blankets Jaskier was holding and rearranging in a piss poor rendition of a nest, Geralt looked Jaskier dead in the eye, hoping his disbelief shone through enough to halt the other in his ridiculous thoughts.

A beta.

Geralt would have laughed if he could.

“Did you know the villagers even tried to offer me an out?” Jaskier continued, seeming happier than ever. “Especially the old lady here, she went on and on about this whole preach of saving me from the demon’s spawn, that’s you by the way, and offered me food and shelter if I needed it. You actually unknowingly cut out conversation short a few days ago, when you came back with another blanket for me, the not so omega as you thought!”

“You’re not,” Geralt started, not really used to speaking any more, used to simply listen to people rant on and on and on. “You are an—”

“But you know, what’s life for me in this muddy Midcopse?” Jaskier continued, straightening his new clothes – courtesy of Geralt. Faintly, Geralt wondered if Jaskier always talked as much or if that was only because he was stressed and anxious. “Nothing! I am used to the bustling cities, clinking coin and ale-drunk patrons. And with you, I’d get to see the world, experience some.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt tried instead, letting his deep voice reverberate through the room, successfully garnering Jaskier’s attention and drawing his eyes to him. “You are an omega.”

There were a few beats of utter silence, Jaskier staring at him dumbfounded, blankets still cradled in his arms like a new-born.

Until they dropped to the floor.

“I assure you—,” Jaskier started, breathing in sharply through his nose as Geralt stepped forward menacingly, moving into his personal space. “I am a beta.”

“And I am an omega,” Geralt countered, nostrils flaring as he could smell the omega up close, his first heat finally abating after 8 days of pain and suffering. His heart hurt, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that, if the omega spent the next heat with a good alpha, he’d feel a lot better about the whole ordeal. “Don’t hit around the bush. You just presented late, but you presented, and definitely not as a beta.”

That did the trick.

Geralt watched as the omega looked around the room and eyed the blankets he’d been obsessively repositioning in a shape that even a child could recognise as a nest.

“A nest,” Jaskier echoed, eyes as wide as saucers. “I’m building a nest.”

“And I am glad you are,” Geralt said, surprising himself with the sudden outburst of vocal honesty. He never lied, but he had to admit that he omitted the truth quite a lot, simply because people were dumb. “You’ve been retaining from doing so way too long, it might have gotten you sick in the end.”

That was true; omega sickness being a real thing, though the cause was rarely traced back to nesting too little, it was often caused by acknowledging too little attention, by closing themselves off to their omegan nature. Geralt simply took the liberty to garner Jaskier’s situation under those causes.

“I’m an omega.”

Geralt nodded, eyeing Jaskier warily as he suddenly looked way too pale and ready to keen over if Geralt uttered the word.

“You are,” he uttered instead, making the choice to step closer and put his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders, the omega relaxing instinctively under his touch. Having resisted all of his previous omegan tendencies, it surprised Geralt for a short while, until he remembered all the other experiences around the omega. He seemed to be really tuned in to Geralt’s scent, accepting most touches and commands naturally.

It was way too easy for Geralt to abuse it, really, but he didn’t.

Instead, he steered the omega back to his horridly constructed nest, handing him some firmer blankets (including the latest purple addition) to encourage him to strengthen the shape and form a bit more.

God knows the nest needed it.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

“Does your medallion hum when I am in danger?”

Geralt looked at him, brows pinched in thought, almost seeming surprised that Jaskier had found out this little piece of information about him.

The silence stretched on for so long that Jaskier was already thinking of new topics to break the tense atmosphere with, until Geralt suddenly answered.

“I think so, yes.” He seemed to work over his words – not surprisingly, seeing he rarely talks. Caveman. “It hummed when I tried to leave you at Crow’s Perch.”

“You tried to leave me?” Jaskier asked indigenously. Who would leave without taking something they had bought, right? “Didn’t you buy me?”

Sharp, golden cat eyes bore into his, pinning him to the spot.

Wrong remark.

Geralt didn’t reprimand him, though. He never did. After mulling on his words for a while again, he started speaking.

“I’d just completed a few errands for the Baron and was led down with the promise of a reward. I’d hoped coin but I would have been happy with a lot of things, really,” Geralt said, frowning even more than usual. “I didn’t like the sight of the basement and hated that I had to make a choice, as if my lifestyle was suited for an omega. I actually meant to leave without any of you.”

Geralt scrunched his nose, taking a deep sip of something that smelt awfully like rum.

That must have burned.

“They misunderstood.”

With this, Jaskier was able to piece a lot of things together, too. How they’d treated him, that they had been the one to tie him on Roach, and not Geralt himself.

“I tried to leave you behind. You’d die with me, you know, smelling like heat and sex. I can protect you when you’re around me, but I am a Witcher, a beast hunter, not a babysitter.” Ouch. That hurt. “I figured you’d be better off being alive, abused but alive, instead of meeting an early death by the hands of a wayward nekker or wright.”

It was exactly the reason why Jaskier hadn’t even tried to flee on the off chance that Geralt hadn’t been looking. He’d never survive in these forests without knowing the paths or the region. And even then, Jaskier had found out the hard way that those roads might not be safe either.

“The medallion started humming when I turned around and left.” Unconsciously, Jaskier saw the alpha reach for his neck, a string of red welts surrounding his neck from where the medallion’s chain had burnt through his shirt into his skin. “You started keening, too. Strongly and loudly, even while you were unconscious. It left my ears ringing.”

Jaskier waited patiently, nibbling on a piece of bread one crumb at a time as he tried to digest the information handed to him just now. This must have been the most Geralt has ever spoken at a time.

He was oddly pleased he was the one coaxing it out of the alpha, even if it was through drastic measures.

“You have to thank Roach, though,” Geralt continued. “She just stopped dead in her tracks, refusing to take a single step without you. She’s the reason why I turned around and took you with me in the end.”

While Jaskier was mulling that comment over to find a fitting response, their conversation was suddenly cut short by a sharp knock on the door, the kind old lady gruffly calling for Geralt saying that there was a woman at the door asking for him.

Not even bothering to let Jaskier know Geralt was leaving, the alpha stood up to follow the woman down the stairs to meet this woman without a name.

Jaskier wondered if it was Geralt’s lover.

He had to fight down a sudden jealous urge to follow him and demand an explanation from the odd but strangely loving alpha.

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

“The crow is burning,” Yennefer said, cryptic as ever, her mage’s medallion shining in the afternoon sun. She was dressed scantily once again, but a feathered cloak hung over her shoulders to keep her warm in the chilly autumn breeze. “The job is done.”

Geralt hummed, eyes lingering on her for a little more as he followed to scan the horizon again, Witcher instincts kicking in.

He was surprised she’d decided to visit him personally. While it was true that he had sent his message to her directly, she rarely responded in-person unless she wanted something of Geralt.

Usually, it was a good night’s worth of sex.

And, usually, Geralt would be totally up for that, loving the way he and Yennefer dominated and commanded each other in the bedroom so naturally, satisfying both their needs.

He saw Yennefer sniff the air around him, no doubt reading Geralt’s line of thought as flawlessly as ever. That was partly what made her that great of a mage and an alpha, of course.

“There’s an omega on your mind,” she said, not even enraged by the news. Instead, her lips curled up into a smile, looking Geralt up and down. “Did perhaps an omega from the prison catch your naughty eye?”

Knowing she’d be aware of his lie the instant he uttered it, Geralt decided to play vague, not wanting to out Jaskier in case the other didn’t want him as _his_ alpha. “Perhaps.”

“The alpha I knew before would have immediately told me no,” Yennefer said, smile still playing on her face. She was enjoying this, despite their previous sexual endeavours. “So you really did. Huh, the cold-hearted Witcher finally settling down, who would have known!”

For one, Geralt himself wouldn’t have, but he decided to not say anything at all lest to encourage her to elaborate on that further.

“The other omegas are now cared for,” Yennefer wisely chose to continue on another topic, eyeing Geralt with a hint of a smile, still. “We took them with us and offered them room and shelter.”

“And the Baron?”

“With his wife,” Yennefer answered with a devious glint in her eye. Geralt recalled the ugly deformed hag of the swamp he cut down to save some children from being eaten. Having Yen tell him that the Baron was with her meant that he was dead, in whatever way that could have happened.

Probably fire, seeing it was Yen’s favoured spell to deal with most things.

“Just like you told us, there was a special entrance to Crow’s Perch through the water surrounding the keep. It was a bit of a climb, and a messy one at that, but it led us straight through the basement. We managed to get the omegas through there once we set the keep on fire.” Yennefer looked at Geralt, uncanny concern showing in her eyes. Honestly, Geralt didn’t know she was capable of that emotion at all. “They were in bad shape.”

Happy to have meant something good in those omega’s lives after all, Geralt nodded. He was glad that Yennefer had listened to his message and had taken the best precautions to save the omegas.

It was no state of living in, after all, imprisonment being one of the worst things to befall any human being, but particularly an omega.

His mind wandered back to Jaskier, trying to figure out if the omega was better off with him or with Yennefer. He could send him off with Yen, promising him a better life even if he had let go of the one he just built with Geralt.

“You love him,” Yennefer stated without a doubt, her green eyes boring into Geralt’s deformed cat ones. “Even if I didn’t practice magic, even if I wasn’t a mage, I could have seen it on your face.”

Not knowing what to say in return, Geralt just nodded in agreement.

“Maybe I do.”

▿ ▿ ▿ ♛ ▿ ▿ ▿

Jaskier had _no idea_ of what he was doing.

He just knew that Geralt had been talking to the mysterious woman for an awful long time, and Jaskier wasn’t dumb. He knew that when women came knocking on your door without previously announcing their arrival, they either came to kill you or have sex with you.

Trust him, Jaskier had experience with both of those situations.

But seeing that attacking a Witcher seems like a shortcut to death, Jaskier gathered that it was probably an old lover who caught wind of the man staying in Midcopse for a _recently presented omega_ and decided to hit him up once again because the sex had been so satisfactory the last time.

Okay, Jaskier was making that last part up, but who could he blame? He’d seen Geralt naked after all and knew that what he carried was definitely above average. Besides that, the alpha probably knew damn well how to use that in a way that was pleasant to both the giving and receiving party.

Don’t get him wrong – Jaskier was all for people following their love and enjoying copulation with others but thinking of Geralt having sex with others really sparked a feeling of jealousy he hadn’t felt ever before.

He could leave.

He could run out of the house, take Roach or a horse from one of the shitty Midcopse villages and make a run for it and he was sure that Geralt wouldn’t stop him. Actually, Jaskier was willing to bet his entire wardrobe on the fact that Geralt wouldn’t even follow him (forgetting the fact that Jaskier hadn’t even seen the wardrobe for months now).

But the thing was that Jaskier knew that he was not held against his will.

Despite the picture that the villagers were painting of Geralt, Jaskier knew that he was nothing like that. He took him in even if he didn’t know how to properly take care of an omega, let alone an omega who didn’t even know he was an omega in the first place. Along the way, Geralt has shown him nothing but support, bringing him blankets to, what Jaskier now supposes as _coaxing_ , lure the omegan parts of his body out.

Like no other, Jaskier knew that the White Wolf, Geralt the Witcher, was always on the move. He rarely stayed in one spot unless he had some unfinished business there. But from what Jaskier had gathered, Geralt had cleared the entire notice board the first day he was here, when he was still out cold from the nightwraith attack.

They were now six days later.

Jaskier was sure that his heat had abated now, the weird stomach aches subsided and the hunger settled. Geralt had helped with that, bringing blankets doused with his scent and loafs of bread, filling him up like no other piece of food was capable of, really.

When not chased by some neighbouring wannabe alphas, Jaskier found himself humming some new tunes as he puttered around the village, grooming and feeding Roach to perfection. He missed writing and composing songs, especially now that he was around his inspiration almost nonstop. There were already 24 written songs on their recent encounter with Jenny O’ the Woods, carefully displaying Geralt selfless courage and prowess in battle. Nowhere Jaskier mentioned his own role or lack thereof, but if anyone asked he could confidently answer that none of his public would be interested in that storyline. 

He wondered if Geralt knew that he wrote all those songs about him.

He wondered if he was still capable of loving him then.


End file.
